


Ohana Means Family

by doctor_jasley



Series: Ohana Verse [1]
Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-21
Updated: 2012-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-31 13:06:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor_jasley/pseuds/doctor_jasley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a spark isn't easy. Brendon's life is finally starting to smooth out when something happens to change all of that. Hopefully, that change is for the best. A stark(ish) magical-realism au.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ohana Means Family

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for R_B 2012. Title comes from Disney's Lilo and Stitch

Nirvana’s playing in the background; Kurt Cobain singing about something Brendon’s not really paying attention to. Grunge isn’t his style of depressing most days. Though, there was that span of time during high school where he listened to “Come As You Are” until the words blended into everything around him. It smoothed down edges nothing else could.

Settling into your magic that late in life tends to be rocky, at best. Most teenagers drop into the craft -if they’re born to it- when puberty first strikes or before, anything occurring after sixteen is considered detrimental to health, and sanity. Brendon was one of the lucky assholes who got tugged down during his senior year. He’d already set a path for non-magic that, while not the most appealing, would be solid. The magic thing screwed that path up.

Darkness, it did more than that. By the time Brendon was ready to graduate, there was no path anymore. It’d been obliterated, and there was no alternative. At least, he wasn’t locked up, long. Unlike some of the others he was thrown in with who probably never made it out.

Once the directors of the facility realized he wasn’t a danger -to the public or himself- they released him under the stipulation he wear a dampening bracelet to control any flare ups. It was the only way he’d be allowed to finish out the school term. Brendon knew, if he didn’t graduate he’d have nothing in the future. No one hires a magically-impaired drop-out.

So he agreed and ended up with three bracelets instead of only one.

No one needed to know that the dampeners barely worked, just enough to keep him sane and stable. Magic still bled into -and through- everything. His parents treated him like he was some fragile glass bottle filled to the brim with corrosive acid. The day he graduated -after playing one trick of a game of catch up with his course work- they gave him enough money to leave home.

He was told to never come back.

He hasn’t. Some days are better than worse. He’s moved away from his original dampener bracelets and upgraded to pretending to be a normal. Non-magical individuals wear a single bracelet for protection and identification. Brendon’s is easy to self-manipulate into shielding his energy from true wielders, other normals, and himself.

There isn’t a single reason to practice magic. He can’t be trained. His magic is too wild and unpredictable when it surfaces. It’s easier to just pretend he was rejected by his family for other reasons and dropped out of college because he couldn’t handle it. Not because he’s on a blacklist that’s travelled the globe a million and twelve times by now.

A turtle drops a pair of hundred dollar jeans on the counter in front of him. Brendon doesn’t jump. The lady blinks at him slowly but doesn’t comment. She probably gets the same reaction from normals all the time. Earth-aligned wielders are calming, their magic almost as old as time itself.

It’s at moments like these that Brendon’s happy he can’t be seen. He needs this job to pay his third of the rent and his part of the bills. The Glitz is upscale, and the salary is better than anything else in retail right now. If the lady knew he was a recovering spark, she could easily get him fired, especially since he’s not registered anymore.

Sparks are the bottom of the barrel; it’s embarrassing and humiliating. Normals don’t like sparks because of the inherent dangers sparks are prone to causing, even under dampening. Brendon was never popular in school, but being labelled a certified freak made the end of high school more than awful.

If he has to pretend to get by, he will. There’s not another option available.

The lady pays for her purchase and takes her bag when Brendon hands it to her after she pockets her credit card. Her green and brown hemp necklace swings from her neck: a proud display of her status.

Brendon might see her as a turtle, but most everyone else -normal or not- know because of the necklace. The same as how Brendon’s bracelet falsely signals his non-magicalness. He doesn’t know how he can point out magic-wielders, especially with his bracelet suppressing his own natural ability, or why he categorizes them as different animals. It’s easier to roll with the weirdness than trying to figure it out.

Maybe his body can’t handle the spike in energy. Maybe the institution fried too many brain cells when he was there. Whatever the reason, Brendon’s been personifying individual magic users as animals since he was let out of Charlotte Institute of Magical Maladies. The good thing, once he sees for the first time, he’s not reminded of the fact again, usually.

Sometimes, however, tiny exceptions slip in, mostly when he’s at home. Brendon’s roommates-slash-maybe something more are magic users. Gabe’s a snake, not in the sense of being shady or cruel. He’s smooth and charming with a love for having a good time. While Pete’s more of a hyena; nocturnal and good at smelling weakness with a need to always hold everyone’s attention.

There’s not one _good_ reason why he’s living with them. There’s plenty of documentaries on the subject of normals cohabitating with magic-wielders. They all say the same thing: it’s bad news. Good thing Brendon’s not exactly normal. One day he’ll get around to telling them the truth, maybe. 

That day isn’t going to come anytime soon. Brendon’s gotten too used to the two of them and whatever confusing mating ritual the three of them keep falling into. One moment, Gabe’s focusing on him, only to back off and let Pete take over. Brendon’s not an expert on relationships -unless they are shitty, fucked up ones that end with him having to pick himself back up again after they leave- so he really doesn’t know what’s going on. 

He likes the sex, though, and the friendship. He’s also not going to be kicked to the curb. Gabe’s a sweet-talker but not a liar; if he says he’s not going to throw Brendon out, he means it. Pete’s far too happy living with more than one person to want him gone. Though, it might be Pete’s propensity for pack activity more than anything else. Brendon doesn’t really know for sure and finds he doesn’t care. For the first time in years, he’s in a solid place: friends, an okay job, and a place to stay that doesn’t change every few months. He’s not going to rock the boat trying to find out.

The rest of his shift goes by uneventfully. No more magic users come in to shop. The manager lets him leave on time, so he doesn’t have overtime this week. A fall breeze nips at his cheeks while he walks home. Brendon had the morning shift, and the sun hasn’t decided to set just yet. It makes the scenery pop and sparkle a burnt gold; it’s pretty.

When he gets home, the house is quiet. No one else is back in yet. Gabe’s day job doesn’t end until six most evenings, and Pete’s probably pestering Patrick or Andy where they work even though he doesn’t work at that office anymore -he got transferred, but that doesn’t stop him from dropping by all the time.

Brendon kicks off his shoes; they thump against the wall before sliding down together to rest next to each other. The place could use a good scrub down. Brendon doesn’t worry about cleaning right now, though; nothing’s _that_ dirty. He’ll be free this weekend, anyways. Gabe and Pete have a _party_ to go to that Brendon’s not invited to.

The massive house at the end of the street holds parties once a month. Invitation only. Or more importantly for Brendon: magic users only. As long as he’s hiding, he’s never going to get an invite. Not that going visible would get him on the list, anyways. If anything, going visible would get him arrested for not being registered. He worked hard to fly under the radar when he moved here; a party isn’t going to be enough to get him to throw all that effort away.

That doesn’t mean he can’t let go, occasionally, when he’s alone. The house is already saturated in magic. To the best of his knowledge, Brendon’s the only one he’s ever met who can distinctly pick apart whose essence is whose, apart from other sparks, if the insane ramblings he heard while at the CIMM can be anything to go by.

Gabe and Pete haven’t mentioned noticing a difference, which hopefully means they can’t tell that more magic has been released. They’re both high level nature magic-wielders; it would be easy for them to catch a trace, if it was possible.

Brendon doesn’t think about it when he tugs the single bracelet off, letting it clink to the surface of the coffee table. He’s as safe as he’s ever going to get here. His magic pushes outward and bounces off the walls in waves. Brendon closes his eyes as everything around him mellows out in the wake of manic excitement flowing from his magic.

He might not practice spells or incantations, his magic’s much too raw to be directed into any form of conducive outlet, but he has to do _something_. It’s one of the main reasons sparks are so feared and despised. Apparently, history and science can only prove that a suppressed spark is the best -only- type of spark that should be allowed to exist.

Brendon hates it, but at least he’s not crazy and locked behind bespelled bars of iron. However, to keep himself sane and not hallucinating colors and scents, he has to unwind the pent-up energy eventually. Like always, he’s lost the first few minutes before the layers of magic already in the house start to blanket his.

There are times he’s sure the natural magic that’s been living in the house after bleeding from Gabe and Pete is sentient. It’ll soothe Brendon’s magic down, calm it and make it more manageable. Facets of the magic are clearly influenced by Pete’s personality, pushy and right there, while others have to be from Gabe and his steady strength streaked through with showy humor.

A vaguely familiar thread of magic squirms by, and Brendon snaps his eyes open. Magic doesn’t move like that when it’s expelled or discarded. Which means the house isn’t as empty as Brendon first thought it to be. A door opens and closes; from the distance and the squeak at the end of the motion, the sound has to have come from Pete’s room. It’s not exactly uncommon for Pete to have friends over who stay even after he’s left for the day.

At least it’s not a robber or cop.

Brendon lurches forward and scrambles for his bracelet when footfalls get closer to the living room. His magic wails in his ears the moment before the bracelet slides to a stop over the warm skin of his wrist. The room’s suddenly silent except for his staccato breaths. He has to get himself under control fast, or there’s no telling what impressions he might accidentally telegraph.

Mikey Way steps out of the hallway sooner than Brendon would like, but he’s calmer than he was. Mikey tilts his head to the side when he sees Brendon but doesn’t say anything other than _‘huh’_ under his breath as he walks by the couch. Mikey’s a friend of Pete and Gabe’s. Brendon’s pretty sure there used to be more between Mikey and both Gabe and Pete -at different times, not together. He can’t prove his theory, but he’s rarely wrong about this sort of thing when he’s not part of the equation. All he’s sure of right now is that Mikey’s only friends with them.

That knowledge settles the knots in his stomach that love to form whenever Mikey’s around to hang out. Brendon thinks about opening his mouth to say something, perhaps to babble about the newest releases to come out at the local theater. Instead, he keeps his mouth shut and tries not to scratch the patch of skin under his bracelet raw. He’s uncomfortable, and his body is far too warm for his liking; his magic is unhappy and chafing at being shoved back into its box far earlier than it’s used to.

Mikey steps around to the arm of the couch. He’s texting on his cell phone one-handed, his other hand shoved into his jean pocket. For the longest moment, Brendon’s sure he’s been caught and Mikey’s going to say something, but he doesn’t speak, just keeps typing out unknown messages on his phone.

The motion’s sleek and steady. Brendon’s reminded of water flowing in the ocean, rolling waves rocking rhythmically against the hull of a ship. Mikey’s been over enough that Brendon doesn’t get a flash of animal. He wouldn’t need one to know that Mikey’s a water magic wielder and a bit of a blue shark; it’s all in how he walks and moves. Some things are just obvious.

What isn’t as obvious is why Mikey pulls his hand out of his pocket and tosses a silver dollar at Brendon’s head. Mikey’s navy blue and silver-studded wrist cuff flashes when it catches the light, and it distracts Brendon enough that he barely catches the silver dollar.

“Give that to Pete or Gabe. Tell them it’s from me. They’ll understand.”

With that, Mikey strides to the door and lets himself out. No “goodbye” or “how are you”. Just here one moment, and gone the next. Brendon stares down at the coin laying in the center of his palm. There’s nothing magical about it. To be sure, Brendon slips his bracelet off again. Nothing new pricks at his magic.

The coin’s as devoid of energy as the Antarctic is of warmth. Brendon shoves the silver dollar into his pants pocket and closes his eyes again. His magic isn’t as joyous as it was before. Being interrupted has made it cranky and sour. The magic around him is doing its best to comfort his and is barely gaining any ground.

Brendon can’t figure out why he’s suddenly agitated. Mikey’s a magic-wielder so he can’t have seen anything even if Brendon’s first knee-jerk thought is that he did. No one’s ever silent about a spark, except other sparks. And since other sparks are usually only found locked up or homeless, Brendon hasn’t ran into one in so many years that he can’t even remember what their magic felt like when it found ways to slip out.

He falls asleep without meaning to. The sound of tires crunching over gravel wakes him up. He’s warm and snug feeling, magic wrapped around him. Sleepily, he tugs his bracelet back on. This time he doesn’t feel over-exposed bottling himself up again.

When the door opens, Gabe and Pete spill into the house. Pete must have called Gabe to pick him up from where ever. The smell of pizza is distracting. Brendon hasn’t eaten since his lunch break earlier in the day. He’s up off of the couch and stealing the box from Pete within a second of Gabe shutting the front door. Being sleepy doesn’t slow him down any.

“Sometimes I think you’re a squirrel, Bren. I bet I could smear peanut butter on top of the cheese, and you’d still eat it.”

Gabe’s voice is cheerful. He’s watching them fight over the pizza box. Brendon barely catches a glimpse of Gabe’s shiny golden cobra necklace before Pete moves to take the box away from him. Brendon pivots away, a giggle tumbling from his lips when he flips the top open so he can grab a slice of still hot pizza. Cheese and pineapple stare up at him, and he smiles. Pete tries to lunge for the box again. Brendon turns and bolts for the kitchen, pizza box as close to his chest as he can get it without streaking his work polo with cheese grease.

Gabe snags the box from Brendon when he’s finally in the kitchen and about to slide the box on the cabinet top near the sink. “You know better than to provoke Pete.”

He’s laughing, so Brendon just shrugs and smiles before taking a big bite from his slice of pizza. Pete chooses that moment to slide across the kitchen tiles. He’s not wearing his shoes. Brendon’s mildly impressed that he remembered to take his vans off. Gabe usually has to bitch at him before he chunks them at the far wall, near the front door.

Brendon doesn’t even get a chance to swallow his bite. Pete tackles him, the both of them crashing to the cold tile floor. Gabe does nothing to help either of them up. Luckily, Brendon doesn’t choke. He shakily swallows before glaring at Pete, who has Brendon pinned to the tiles with his body weight while he takes a chunk of Brendon’s pizza slice when he bites into it. It would be gross if something like this hasn’t happened a million times by now.

“Fucker, that’s my slice.” Brendon goes still and pliant long enough for Pete to swallow his bite and make this content, pleased sound in the back of his throat. When he’s sure Pete’s not expecting it, Brendon twists and bolts upright, snagging his slice of pizza when Pete flails off of him.

“Victory is mine.”

Gabe shakes his head and doesn’t say anything. Brendon’s sure that he’s already devoured at least half of the pizza while they’ve been preoccupied on the kitchen floor. That’s also happened before.

Pete lets him swallow his bite this time before tackling him back down to the tiles. Tiny threads of magic tickle across the bare skin of Brendon’s arms, and he laughs. Pete’s decided to fight dirty. The silver tribal ring he wears on his right hand catches the light for a split second. Brendon doesn’t have much of a chance to stare at it because he’s gasping out another laugh when the magic slips under his shirt.

Months back, Pete would have pulled back after snapping and using his magic. Ninety percent of all normals, while protected by their bracelets, can still be affected by stronger levels of magic. Nearly all of them aren’t very comfortable with the feeling of magic touching their flesh. It’s one of the major reasons normals and magic-wielders rarely work out together. 

It took three weeks, and a month’s worth of beer to convince Pete and Gabe that Brendon was more than fine with it. In all actuality, he loves it. Even as bound up and closed-off as he is, feeling something so _electric_ is exhilarating to him.

Now, no one plays as nice as they used to. It’s freeing to witness and experience.

“Give.”

Brendon shakes his head, his hair sliding across the tiles when he moves. His laughter’s pulled out of his chest this time when he’s tickled. Fuck, his sides hurt. The half-eaten slice of pizza is laying forgotten not even a foot away. Brendon’s not really paying attention to it anymore.

Pete presses more of his weight down, and Brendon smiles up at him in between his laughs. “Just giving up isn’t that fun.” 

There’s a growl before Pete bends and starts nosing at Brendon’s neck, trying to get him to tilt his head to the side in deference. Normally, Brendon would easily comply because he likes the neck biting and nuzzling. Tonight, that’s not the point. He’s having way too much fun being contrary. 

The fridge door opens and slams closed. Brendon barely notices. Gabe crouches and tugs Pete off of him.

“Okayyy. Looks like we’re finishing supper later. Bed now, more pizza later.”

Brendon sits up and shakes his fingers some. They tingle from the residual magic. Pete looks at Gabe hotly before turning back to Brendon. They’re kissing the moment Gabe stands. Brendon’s just about to let himself get pinned to the tiles again when Gabe sighs and says “Up. Now.”

His voice is as smooth as honey, hypnotic. Pete breaks away from the kiss and glares at Gabe, but stands anyways. “I hate when you do that, motherfucker.”

Gabe laughs at him. “No, you don’t.” His voice is back to its normal cadence.

Brendon dusts himself off and jumps to his feet, grinning. “Last one to touch the mattress loses.” He bolts for Gabe’s room because he has the biggest bed. He’s first to crawl across the rumpled sheets. His pants get stripped off and thrown into a corner -the silver dollar and Mikey all but forgotten- his work polo following less than a second later.

Pete jumps on Gabe’s bed and pins Brendon to the sheets. Gabe sits on the edge of the mattress and watches. Brendon doesn’t understand why Pete and Gabe seem to switch back and forth, one watching, one participating. They’re together, except for when they’re also with Brendon, apparently. Not that anyone would know that about Pete and Gabe if they dropped by for a visit anyways. Separate rooms doesn’t really scream coupley-coupleness. Brendon hasn’t asked because it’s not his place. If they think they need to keep shit divided up, then who’s he to barge in and try to change shit? 

A particularly enthusiastic bite to his shoulder distracts him, and Brendon shivers some. Gabe scoots up on the bed until he’s closer but still not touching either of them.

“Go slow. Make him beg for it.”

The directions are new. Brendon’s hoping it means progress. He’d hate to be the stone wedged between Pete and Gabe. He wasn’t trying to break them up when he first moved in -answering a roommate wanted ad he saw on a flyer- and he still isn’t.

Pete never listens to anyone else, only Gabe. Patrick hates that because it means Pete’s always pestering him when he’s busy; never taking no for an answer. Brendon doesn’t really mind. He’d do the same if asked.

The rest of his thoughts start to puddle when Pete firmly strokes fingers down his sides. He tries to hold the moan back. Pete leans closer and licks a wet streak up his neck. “Noises are encouraged.”

After that, Brendon kinda checks out. He’s safe, and it’s okay to drown in the sensations. When they’re finally exhausted, Brendon curls up around a pillow and falls asleep instead of getting out of bed to clean up or eat. Pete goes to find the pizza box,and Gabe slips in behind Brendon and cards warm fingers through his sweaty hair until he’s officially out for the count.

No one’s awkward in the morning. Thank lightness they passed that phase many months back. Pete pokes him when Brendon steals his toast, and Gabe grumbles when Brendon drinks from his coffee cup. It’s comfortable, for the most part. However, the small voice hiding in the back of his thoughts is venomous and whispers harsh truths into his ear.

_”You’re a liar”_

_”Just wait until they know the truth.”_

_”You don’t deserve this. Freaks never do.”_

Brendon hums meaningless snatches of music under his breath to drown out the noise in his head. He misses playing music, but playing isn’t a good idea. His bracelet can’t hold back his magic when he’s immersed in the depth of pitch, tone, melody, and rhythm. If he’s not careful, his magic warps things. Nothing breaks, and depending on what he’s playing, it won’t always try for being destructive. Technically, Brendon could buy a second-hand guitar and strum Nirvana to his heart’s content and never have a hiccup. He’s trained himself enough to be harmless with those cords and words.

The problem mainly lies in the fact that Brendon would rather play happier songs, but he can’t trust himself with them. He shoves down on the want and goes to shower, and then get dressed for the day. He has two more shifts, and then he’s off for the weekend: his very boring and empty weekend.

Thursday and Friday are boring. Brendon sleeps alone in his own room. He doesn’t worry about it because it’s part of the cycle. When Pete and Gabe get back Sunday night, Gabe will crack a smarmy joke before kissing him, and they’ll be back on track again. Brendon’s gotten used to the routine. It’s loads better than any other one he’s ever had to adjust to.

By Saturday morning, Pete’s wound tight. He has issues sometimes with controlling his magic. The monthly parties Mikey’s brother holds help him unwind some. Brendon doesn’t know everything about Pete’s past, but he knows enough to sympathize. Sometimes, higher level magic users lose themselves because they’re too powerful for their own good. Coming back from being lost is tough; it leaves scars that sometimes become inflamed from too much energy trying to break free at the wrong moment.

If anyone would understand Brendon’s issues over being locked up, it would be Pete. However, Brendon can’t say anything. Sparks aren’t high level wielders; they’re not even a speck of dust under the soles of a high level individual. The notion was drilled into his head with enough fervor while he was at CIMM that he’s never really been able to shake it.

Pete and Mikey might no longer be together, but he’s still invited to the parties. The same goes for Gabe. They don’t talk about it with Brendon. Normals aren’t supposed to know too much about magic. It’s supposed to keep them safe. Brendon only knows the extremely obvious shit, even though he hasn’t been normal since he was seventeen.

Gerard’s one of the most sought after air wielders in the country. The heat of the west coast needs the breeze to keep from cooking in the summer, and it rarely snows. Air wielders are also scarily good at being creative. Brendon guesses that it would make sense that Gerard and Mikey would move out here. For those reasons.

Mikey’s still enrolled in college, advanced courses keeping him longer than most. Learning whatever it is magic-wielders learn besides control and patience. The word is that Gerard holds the parties for his brother as a bribe to keep him in school while Gerard works to find a position he likes. Brendon doesn’t usually muse about the Ways. He’s never met Gerard, and Mikey doesn’t says much to him when he’s visiting.

However, it’s Saturday and around six pm Gabe and Pete will slip out of the house and walk down to the house at the end of the street. They’ll be gone until six pm Sunday evening. Twenty-four hours that Brendon knows nothing about; twenty-fours hours he has no access to.

To keep his mind from wandering too far, he starts collecting clothes to wash. At this rate, he’ll be busy all weekend washing, drying, and folding alone. They don’t really wash on a regular schedule. Things just tend to pile up until someone gives and starts a load.

Brendon’s checking pockets for money and various random things when the silver dollar falls out of the pocket of his work pants from Wednesday. He forgot all about the silver dollar. He’s just picked it up when Gabe and Pete poke their heads into the laundry room.

“What shiny object does Brendon Squirrel have today.” Gabe chuckles at Pete’s words, full out laughing when Brendon flips them off.

“It’s a silver dollar. Mikey gave it to me Wednesday. I forgot all about it. He said to give it to one of you. He said you’d know what he meant.” Brendon tosses the coin to them, and Pete catches it without hesitation. He stares at the coin for a moment before clenching his fist shut and leaving the doorway; the sound of cell phone buttons beeping rapid-fire follows him down the hall.

Gabe stays where he is, but he’s staring at Brendon in a speculative way he never has before, not even when Brendon applied to be their roommate over two years ago.

“Hey. Bren, do you mind coming out here for a minute?”

Brendon shrugs and closes the washer door. The moment he’s in the hallway, Gabe wraps warm fingers around his wrist. He’s snapping Brendon’s bracelet with his magic without saying anything. He’s angry. Brendon can vaguely tell. His own magic is too busy screaming in his ears for him to notice much else, including the moment he slides down the hall wall to sit in a heap on the floor.

“Why would you lie to us?” Gabe’s voice sounds far away, hurt and betrayed. Brendon’s doing his best to reel his magic in without having to deal with anything else like answering questions he can’t form answers to. His magic is unhappy and feeling cornered. He’s afraid it might shatter the windows. He doesn’t have the money to replace them and pay his next month’s rent in advance before he has to pack up and leave.

He shakes his head and rests his head on his knees. Fuck, why is control always _so_ damn hard for him?

Gabe touches his shoulder gently.”You can’t just lie to us, to yourself. Fuck, why would you do that? Magic isn’t supposed to be contained; it’s unnatural.”

Brendon laughs into the fabric of his jeans. “Unless you’re unwanted and dangerous.” His fingers shake when he wraps them around his ankles. He’s so close to having his magic sloppily coiled up. All he needs is something to bind it in again. If he had his shoes on he could use one of his shoe laces. As it is, he’s not wearing them or a belt.

There’s nothing.

“Hey, Brendon. I need your hand. Let go for me.” Pete’s voice is softer than Brendon expected, considering the circumstances. When he tugs on his hand, Brendon lets his fingers release their grip on his ankle. Pete wraps something cool around his wrist. “I need you to not push down, okay? Just breathe as steady as you can and think out.”

Against his better judgement, Brendon doesn’t fight Pete’s instructions. “How long were you locked up?” Brendon pretends not to hear Pete’s question. He focuses on his breathing and how everything feels weird around him, like he’s bound up again but also tapped into his magic at the same time. That shouldn’t be possible.

“What the fuck, Pete? Why a-”

Gabe’s still pissed off, and Brendon understands that. He should leave. Pete glares at him though when he stumbles to his feet. “No. Bren, don’t move. Gabe, he’s a fucking spark. How many have you ever met who weren’t fucked up and self-oppressed?”

Brendon can’t listen to this. He doesn’t care if Pete told him to stay. Trick, Brendon’s not going to stick around for this. Except Gabe turns back to him, and his voice is as soft as Pete’s was a moment before. Like Brendon’s freak status explains everything and somehow washes away most of the damage his lies have caused..

“You’re a spark?”

“I haven’t been registered since I turned twenty-two, three years ago. The mandatory dampeners barely worked. It was easy to switch them for something I could twist for my own use. Please, don’t turn me in; I’ll leave.” Brendon’s not going to answer Pete’s earlier question if he can get around it. He doesn’t want to think about the four months he spent subjected to testing and a rigorous lesson plan on just how fucked up he really was.

Trying to move again works about as well as it did when Pete told him not to. Brendon just wants to start packing so he can vanish again. It’s safer for all of them. Gabe stops him and lets out a breath slowly. ”Don’t leave. We _can_ handle this. Fuck, you’ve been self-bound for three years? That isn’t supposed to be possible; Mikey didn’t even last a year.” Pete glares at Gabe, and Brendon looks at them both. Something just happened that he wasn’t supposed to hear or know. He’s curious as fuck, but mostly, he’s relieved that Gabe doesn’t seem mad at him anymore, doesn’t want him to leave even.

Brendon’s not stupid enough to think this resolves anything. His life is never, ever this easy.

Pete spins the silver dollar between his fingers, distracting Brendon before he can ask questions of his own. “This right here? Is Mikey inviting you to his party. And not just one, but all of them. He thought we knew about you. He’s sorry he broke your cover but still wants you to come with us.”

Brendon shakes his head. “I’m not a magic-wielder. I doubt sparks are allowed. I don’t even have a single dampener on me.”

Gabe scoffs at him. “It’s not my story to tell -stop glaring holes into my skull, Pete- but you’re not the only spark to ever break from the mold. We still have to talk about this whole “hiding something major like this from us” thing. However, Mikey’s party might help settle some other things. If you can corner Gerard, ask him his thoughts on sparks.”

Brendon shakes his head again. “I’m not safe to be around.”

Pete grabs Brendon’s wrist, the one with something wrapped around it now. “Look down at your hand. It’s make-shift and will need to eventually be replaced, but it will help for now. Even if it didn’t we’re not going to abandon you.” Pete’s voice brooks no argument, so Brendon looks down at his wrist.

There’s a strip of braided rope twisted up and curled around his wrist. It’s not what he expected, not at all. Shiny beads are randomly threaded through the braided strips. Pinks, blues, yellows, greens and black shimmer at him. Brendon can’t help but stare at them. He’s almost afraid to acknowledge what they mean, seeing as the beads seem to be laid out like musical notation.

“Now that that’s covered, I’m going to do your make-up while Gabe decides what shade of neon he wants to wear. You’re going to look hot as fuck with eyeliner.” Pete uses his hold on Brendon’s wrist to drag him in the direction of his bedroom. Brendon doesn’t fight the forward motion and lets himself get tugged towards Pete’s room. Gabe shrugs at him and smiles encouragingly before going to his own room to change.

“Don’t I need to change first?” Brendon fiddles with the collar of his red tee-shirt. He’s in it and a pair of ratty, old jeans. There’s no telling how he’s supposed to dress for a party he’s not even sure he really wants to go to.

He wants to ask so many _other_ things: like why isn’t he on his ass outside right now? How is being a spark _okay_ , suddenly? And what exactly is he supposed to get out of a conversation with Mikey Way’s older brother? He doesn’t get a chance to say anything because Pete starts rummaging through a drawer for something, words slipping off his tongue faster than Brendon can think about shit he wants to say.

“Nah, you’re fine. Don’t worry. It’s not going to matter. Gabe isn’t mad at you, not really. He just has issues with lying. When we get back home, we’ll all sit down and talk. But until then...lift your head and stand still, I don’t have an eye-patch around if I poke your eye out.”

Pete rambles at him while he rims Brendon’s eyes with black eyeliner. Something a lot like hope starts to slither about in his stomach. Brendon’s not ready to let the notion take root, but he trusts Pete to at least be honest with him.

Maybe he hasn’t fucked everything up for once just by being himself.

 _Maybe_.


End file.
